Image of The Invisible
by pyrogambit
Summary: The battle at Alcatraz has ended. The cure production stopped. But not everyone is happy with the results. When someone makes an attempt on Worthington II's life, the mutant registration law is enacted. War is on the horizon.
1. Prologue

Yay! Our first story!

**disclaimer:** Not ours! We're just some poor kids -- way more poor than Bryan Singer or Stan Lee.

curt's crap: please enjoy! concrit is welcome, flaming is evil!

kmf's stuff: enjoy! and be nice! flaming is truly evil!

by the way, if you enjoyed the story, check out our profile. it WILL help you later! i promise.

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_**Prologue**_

The room fell quiet as the old man took the stage and stopped behind the podium. Leaning into the microphone, he heaved a sigh of regret for all the things he had caused. Not knowing the danger lurking behind the stage curtain, he began to speak.

"I never meant for this kind of turmoil when I came up with the idea for a cure. I just wanted to help my son. I am officially ending production of the cure and..." But Worthington never finished his sentence. He was too busy staring into the eyes of a mutant, who stood at his left, only inches from the podium. The mutant had flicked something on his wrist and a fireball formed in his hand.

"So, you thought you could cure us? I've got news for you: _We are the cure_," the young man said, quoting his old mentor. The fireball began to grow, and before Worthington knew what had happened, the young man hit him with it. Worthington collapsed, half of his body burning from the flames. The mutant was suddenly surrounded by soldiers who had been making their way through the crowd moments before. A fire extinguisher was used on Worthington as the mutant raised his hands in mock surrender. A smirk lit the young man's face up as he looked around at the men surrounding him.

"Ok, boys. What's the first rule to playing with fire?" the young man asked. The soldiers looked around at each other, wondering who he thought he was.

"Get down on the ground and keep your hands where we can see them, kid. Don't make any more trouble for yourself with cocky jokes," one of the men said. The mutant smirked again.

"The first rule to playing with fire... _Don't_," he said. He flicked the thing on his wrist a second time. The soldiers prepared to shoot. A second fire ball formed in his hand, only to be shot at two of the men surrounding him. As he went to turn around to the other men, something hit him in the back of the head, effectively knocking the young man unconscious.

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St. John Allerdyce looked around the room that had become his cell as he sat on the edge of his cot, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. The police had brought him to Alcatraz, where the government had rebuilt the prison as a jail for high-threat mutants. The room had been specially designed so that he would have no source of fire or heat. He was even on the opposite side from the furnace. And to make matters worse, the guards were keeping him sedated with a drug they called Haldol, because it effectively calmed a person down. They would strap him down and inject small amounts slowly into his blood and he would suddenly feel tired and slow.

He was too busy berating himself to care, though. He couldn't believe he had gotten caught trying to kill Worthington, and he hadn't even killed the guy.

He knew, though, that outside the prison walls something big was brewing. The humans weren't going to stand around after another mutant attack and just let the mutants run rampant.

He knew there would be hell to pay for the misdeeds of every mutant who walked the Earth. For every mutant who had gotten his or herself locked up in the new Alcatraz.

He especially knew he was itching to be a part of everything.

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"Read 'em an' weep, _mon amis_. Straight flush." 

A chorus of groans and curses met the declaration, accompanied by irritated throwing down of cards and the scrape of chairs being pushed back from the table as the disappointed losers left. The man in the sunglasses scraped up his winnings -- the patrons had long since learnt not to argue over it with him -- and pocketed it. He headed to the bar, his walk a signature natural swagger and ordered a scotch. Antwone didn't ask questions of anybody and readily complied. The man accepted it with a charming crooked grin, which masked the anxieties in his mind, and a raise to the bartender. The man swirled the amber liquid in his glass before throwing it back. It burned a smooth path down his throat. The sounds of the bar were all too familiar, and quiet in the background compared to his swirling thoughts. A patron's demand to Antwone to turn up the volume of the television sliced through the din of his mind. Interest mildly piqued, the man glanced up to see what was so captivating -- and found himself intrigued.

"Today an attempt was made on Warren Worthington, Sr's life. Worthington, who discovered and manufactured a cure for the mutant race not long ago was announcing..." The reporter's monotone faded out to his ears. All his attention was focused on the picture in the righthand corner of the screen of the mutant who had attacked Worthington. Nothing more than a kid, really, but -- as he watched the footage of the attempt -- a kid with moxy -- daring, bold. A kid with _style. _

And style and daring were things that Remy LeBeau appreciated.

"Alcatraz, eh?" he whispered to himself. An aerial view of the rebuilt, reconverted island prison filled the television screen. Remy pushed away from the bar, flipping up the collar of his beaten leather duster as he walked out the doorsand into the muggy New Orleans night. "I think I'ma headin' out t' California. Meet this Allerdyce _homme_ m'self."_

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(The lyric in the page break is from "Image of the Invisible" by Thrice)


	2. Chapter 1

Thanks **00mrdragon00** for the review. Glad we caught your interest!

kmf's stuff: We hope you enjoy this!

curt's crap: Reviews are love and Zippo shark lighters and playing cards!_

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_**Chapter One**_

Alcatraz rose as a hulking mass of stone and steel upon a rock in the middle of San Fransico Bay. Its nickname was apt.

Remy LeBeau stood on a cliff in a remote part of the beach, looking out upon the infamous prison. The place where they planned to put a good deal of his bretheren. The place where the young revolutionary Allerdyce was housed -- or rather, kept.

And Remy had taken it upon himself to spring him out. Not just as a favour to his race, but moreso because of what could be in it for him. He was a thief by trade, and always after something to further himself.

The water stretched out before him, deep crystal blue, darking with the sky. The sun bled a trail of bloody red across the ocean as it disappeared at the horizon. Water wasn't Remy's favourite thing, but he knew how to swim. There was a dock facing him, a quay right near beside him on the beach. And a ship loading up.

His red eyes glittered. "Ah."

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Sneaking onto and off of the supply ship to Alcatraz was not hard for him. And he had caught where they were keeping Allerdyce by eavesdropping while he was stowing away. Cell Block D on the back of the island. "Dis is gettin' better and better."

Keeping to the shadows, observing the paths of the sparse number of ground security -- and not forgetting the guard in the towers placed at intervals round the island's perimeter, Remy stole towards the back of the prison.

After the whole disaster a month ago, the island had been rebuilt to match its former form, that of Alcatraz the prison, keeping up with historics. Some believed that it was an affront that Worthington was even allowed to build one of his labs on such a historical place.

Remy couldn't have cared less about the politics or details. Right now, his main concern was getting to Cell Block D unnoticed. Finally he found himself on the other side of the island. There was an entrance to a below-ground level. Hoping luck would stay on his side, Remy descended down the steps.

The single thick metal door was heavily chained and padlocked.

No problem for Remy LeBeau. As a thief he had picked locks of the same caliber many times, and could do it in no time flat.

Unlacing the chains as quietly as possible, Remy set them down and walked in.

This part of the prison had been untouched by the destruction the mutant Jean Grey -- or rather, her alternate personality, The Phoenix -- had wrought upon it. It was just as it was when the prison had been built. Remy shuddered. Prisons weren't his thing -- he'd spent all his life trying to stay out of them.

There was nothing down on this level, just storage, so upon finding the stairs, Remy took them up. That would take him to the main level, the level Allerdyce was being kept on. Remy peeked round the wall after quietly swinging back the door, and surveyed the scene.

One watchdog outside a cell almost at the end of the corridor. That must be Allerdyce's box. There weren't any cameras due to the wiring for them not being completed yet. They were relying on man-power for the time being.

Hand slipping beneath his duster to take hold of his retractable adamantium quarterstaff, Remy took a deep breath and strode forward, turning it into a run two steps in. He was upon the guard and had the staff extended before the pathetic mortal knew what was happening. Remy swung the quarterstaff round in a ground-to-sky sweep, catching the guard beneath the chin. His jaws clacked and he fell hard backward, cracking his head against the metal back of his chair.

"Who the hell are you?"

Remy looked up to see the young man who's photo had caught his attention, Allerdyce, staring at him through a circular viewport in his solid steel cell door.

"Ain't no time for questions, _homme._ But you can call me Gambit," Remy replied as he looked over the lock on Allerdyce's cell. It was something new-fangled. It would take too long to try and pick, if he even could. Still, that was not a problem.

It was his power as a mutant, the ability to transform any object's potential energy into kinetic energy -- typically resulting in a bang. It had taken a good amount of practise, but Remy had found with concentration he could control the intensity. So, focused, Remy laid his hand on the lock. "I'd stand back, if I's you," he advised, and charged the lock.

Remy barely got his arm up in time to protect his unusual eyes from the bright blast. The lock and a third of the door had been blown away. So...a little too much power. Remy shrugged. It wasn't an art he had cared to perfect anyway. He poked his head in through the gaping hole he had created.

"You a-comin' or not, _mon ami_? 'Cos I ain't stayin' too much longer, now."

St John Allerdyce looked up at his unlikely saviour. A man not much older than himself, possibly -- it was hard to tell; he looked rough -- with his thick Cajun accent, long auburn hair and almost demonic eyes -- burning red irises set in all-black. A mutant like himself who could evidently make things go boom. The guy who had just sprung him.

"Hell yeah."

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John followed quietly behind the man who called himself Gambit, who led him down a flight of stairs. He realized it was an underground level that they were walking on. He saw a cabinet marked "CONFISCATED ITEMS".

"Hey, man," he called to Gambit. "Can you do your little trick on this?"

Gambit looked like he didn't much like the idea, but he set to it, instead of charging it just picking the lock. John smiled as he recognized his flamethrowers on the top shelf. He quickly grabbed them and followed.

Gambit led him up a second flight of stairs and he found himself outside the prison again. The man seemed to know where he was going, as he led John along a path that had hardly any ground security and was out of sight of the towers. Then he realized they were standing in front of the water. Gambit had dove in without a second thought. John looked at it for a second, realizing how much he disliked water.

Turning to look back up at the prison, he heard the alarm being sounded and decided he'd stayed there long enough. He immediately started swimming after Gambit, barely able to keep track of how long they had been in the water or how far they had gone. All he knew was that by the time they reached the bay, he was exhausted and the sedative was kicking in. He hardly kept himself awake as Gambit led him into an alleyway and pushed him into the passenger seat of a car, mumbling something about having stolen it earlier that day.

All he knew was that he leaned his head against the window and then everything went dark. He woke up at one point and realized they were still on the road.

"Allerdyce. Allerdyce, you okay over there, _homme_?" the man next to him asked. He turned to look at him, head still resting against the glass.

"Don't call me that. The name's John, Pyro or nothing at all. And I'm fine. Just tired from the shit they kept injecting me with," he stated, turning back to look out the window. If Gambit replied, he didn't know, because seconds later he'd fallen asleep again. The second time he woke up they had stopped in a town. It was incredibly dark and there was no one around. Gambit climbed out of the car and John followed suit. The older man tossed him a bundle of clothes and pointed inside, but he stopped and looked at him for a moment.

"Why'd you get me out?" he asked. Gambit looked at him and shrugged.

"Dunno, _mon ami._ I done saw you and I saw potential," he replied. John nodded and followed him inside. He ducked inside of a room seconds after entering and changed into the clothes, which consisted of a black shirt and some jeans that were large on him, but fit well enough. There was a jacket with them, a jacket much like the one he'd worn at the battle of Alcatraz, but he laid it on a chair and dropped heavily onto the bed. Moments later, sleep over took him.

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_(The lyric in the page break is from "Image of the Invisible" by Thrice.)_


	3. Chapter 2

Thank you **sukati**, **rogue1984** and **Time and Fate** for the reviews!

kmf's stuff: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Enjoy!

curt's crap: To rogue1984: I'm glad you like the way Remy's written!_

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_**Chapter Two**_

Remy had...acquired the car upon arriving in San Fransico. He had semi-enlightened Allerdyce on the fact, but was more concerned with getting the hell out of dodge. Allerdyce had passed out not long after Remy had gotten on the road, and had stayed that way until Remy had woke him up when they had crossed into Nevada. The boy had made it clear the surname was not his thing -- strictly John or Pyro. _Pyro_, he had thought as the boy had drifted off again. _Dat's got a nice ring to it. He's got style._

He had awakened John again when, finally exhausted, he had stopped them in a ghost town. It had said "Adaven" or something of the like -- he hadn't paid it much mind. There had been some clothes in the back seat and Remy had given them to John -- the kid had to be hating that prison get-up, not to mention he needed to be out of it...and besides, it was making Remy nervous himself.

They had bedded down in the saloon -- a place were Remy felt right at home. He was sure John hadn't caught much -- the boy had found the rooms upstairs and hadn't made a peep all night. Remy had contented himself by lounging out on the bar.

The sun streaming through the large window and the front entrance was what woke up Remy. He headed up and got John awake and then they were off again.

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John was still groggy as they set off, the road stretching endlessly before them, nothing but sand for miles. As wide-open as the scenery was, he still felt confined. The silence wasn't helping either. He reached forward to figure with the radio. He pressed every button to no avail -- the damned thing was broken. Frustrated and overly-agitated, he slammed his fist down on it. The man called Gambit looked over at him.

"I don't like awkward silences," John said by way of apology, slumping back into the driver's seat, eyes back on the endless road.

"You don't like silence, _homme_, den talk."

"Why don't you talk?" John snapped. "Let's start with a real name."

Gambit held his hands up in a gesture of complacency. "Alright den. Ma name's Remy LeBeau."

"Alright. You told me why -- I guess that half-assed answer passes as an explanation -- you got me out. Now where the hell are we heading?"

"I was thinkin' t' Nawlins."

"New Orleans?"

"It's where I'm from. Figured it work just as well."

John scoffed. "Friggin' New Orleans. There's nothing down there but skeptics and snakehandlers."

"Maybe you right dere, _homme_," Gambit smiled. "Dat's why dey done abandoned me when I's born 'cos dey thought I's the devil's spawn."

"Wonder why?" John muttered under his breath. Remy was unperturbed.

"You're right snarky, ain'tcha? But naw, these eyes ain't whatcha see round everyday."

"No kidding."

"Yeah, dey done left me out on the street. Ma first -- only -- home, y'know?"

"So that's where you learned to pick a lock so fast, huh?"

"Yeah. The thieves took me in. They's ma family. My daddy did come back an' took me t' stay wi' him for a while."

John scoffed, bitterly. "Yeah. Dads."

"Daddy wa'n't the nicest of men, by no means. Naw, the booze done took up were humanity was. Dunno why he ever took me back save he's mad at ma mama and thought havin' me wi' him got back at her. Damn fool -- she didn' want me, neither.

"I learned t' pick locks and keep off the radar on the streets -- I learned t' fight wi' my daddy. Why you so quiet over there, John? Thought you done said you ain't big on silence."

"I said '_awkward_ silences'," John retorted. He grew quiet again, thoughts turning dark and brooding. He felt like the world started to close in on him again and decided to talk. "No. It just reminds me of my dad."

"Your old man done married t' Jack Daniels too, eh?"

"That and every other damned bottle he got his hands on." John gritted his teeth. His past wasn't something he often thought back on. He remembered looking on Bobby Drake's picture-perfect family and wanting to choke him for having it better than he even knew. But Remy was someone who understood that -- the shitty childhood. One where you never knew minute to minute how your dad was going to react, where you learned to dodge beer bottles before you could talk. Where you learned how to shut your mouth or have it shut. The childhood where you were an adult by age two. Where no indiscretion at all could result in a brutal beating. He had been proud when he had come into his powers. He set the abusive bastard straight.

But he wasn't one to just divulge stuff like that. But it was good to know if he wanted to, he wouldn't get the, "Oh, I'm so sorry for you," that made him want to toast whomever had the gall to say that.

"I see you ain't keen on dis. Let's try som't'in' new, den: So why's you after Worthington, _mon ami_? I mean, I done heard about the whole cure thing, though it didn't mean too much to us down south."

"He cured a couple of good friends of mine," John responded gruffly, recalling Mystique's mortal form. She had been someone he had looked up to, and to be reduced to nothing but a pathetic mortal... It still boiled his blood. Magneto, his mentor, reduced to human. It was disgusting. "By the way" -- he looked over at Remy -- "what _is_ your mutation?"

"Well, you done saw what I can do. Dey told me it's gotta do wi' kinetic energy, but nah...I charge things, an' dey explode. Simple as dat."

" 'Simple as that'," mocked John, under his breath. The sedative's side effects were amplifying his normal impatient nature tenfold.

"Snarky, indeed."

"Look -- I'll flash-fry you, man."

"Speakin' of -- so den how's your power work den, _Pyro?_"

"Self-explanatory. But, I can't create the flame -- I can control them, hence the flamethrowers." He waved a hand out, showing the leather fittings.

"Kinda like me, den: you gotta have som't'in' t' work with. I got ma cards, usually." Remy took out a playing deck of ordinary cards and bridged them from hand to hand before taking one of the top. Ace of Spades.

"I guess." They stopped and switched off driving. By this time they were a third of the way across Arizona. John was exhausted, and fell right asleep.

When he woke they switched again. And once again the quiet got to him.

"So what about you? What do you think about Worthington?"

"Dere's a sayin' down south: If it ain't broke, don't fix it. We ain't broke. We's just different."

"Nice analogy. I'm gonna finish him. As soon as I get the chance. I screwed up last time. I'm gonna get it right."

Remy yawned. "Alright, then. So's we got a mission den, do we?"

"I never stopped having one."

"Well okay, den."

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It seemed like it took forever, but finally Gambit was driving them around New Orleans. He ditched the car and led John down a few streets, none of which John caught. He only knew they were in the French Quarter because Remy had said so. But at least it wasn't quiet here. It was loud, boisterous. Music and sound everywhere. The delicious smell of spicy food wafted through the air and Pyro realized how very hungry he was. He hadn't had a decent meal since before he was imprisoned.

Remy led the way to an old grand house.

"So what the hell is this?" John asked. He really just wanted to eat and sleep again.

"Dis is ma friend Bella Donna's house. You'll like her," Remy replied. He knocked on the door, a certain pattern.

A buxom black haired beauty opened the door and immediately enveloped Remy in a hug and a thorough kiss.

"Wow," remarked John. "That's some friend."

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_(The lyric in the page break is from "Image of the Invisible" by Thrice.)_


	4. Chapter 3

Thanks **rogue1984** and **ShyFX** for the reviews!

kmf's stuff: don't worry, the action's gonna start very soon.

curt's crap: Pack up your Zippos, playing cards and other matters of mutant battle paraphenalia.

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_**Chapter Three**_

"Oh, Remy. Where you been? You stayin' this time?" Bella sat down gracefully in a plush red wingback chair. She gestured for John and Remy to take a seat. A bit out of his element, John sat down on the chaise lounge. Remy draped himself across another chair.

"I been about," Remy replied to her first question.

"Who's ya buddy?"

"I'm John -- Pyro," John supplied. Bella's dazzling grey eyes scrutinised him hard. He saw the recognision flicker in her eyes, but instead of illuminating upon it, Bella turned back to Remy.

"How long you gonna be stayin' then?" she asked once more, arching a slender black eyebrow.

"Till we can't stay no more."

Bella sat back and sighed. "I'll hide you while I can, Remy -- but you know there's some in my family that don't like you too much."

"You still countin' him as family, eh?"

"Remy -- he's my brother..."

"Yeah, I know _p'tite belle._ But you gonna help us?"

"Remy LeBeau -- when have I ever turned you down?" Bella smiled. "Let me get y'all som'thin' to eat. I'm imaginin' y'all didn't take no plane." With a flourish of burgundy robes, Bella set to wherever the kitchen was located.

Remy leaned back his head to look over at John. He was twirling a playing card round in his hand. "She done turned me down a good number a times," he remarked, and immediately John knew that he wasn't talking about times that he had needed to be kept safe or helped out of a rut. John smirked and shook his head. He may be out of place here, but he was going to like working with Remy LeBeau.

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Bella was good at safekeeping, but that didn't stop the media from reporting all they could. John and Remy lounged in one of the guest rooms, watching all the reports of "The Pyromaniac's Escape." Every channel it seemed had John's face on-screen and a reporter going on about him.

"Youse a popular man," Remy smirked one time when they had gone through every local channel to find John's face gracing every screen.

"No shit, Remy," John gritted out, unintentionally igniting a fireball in his hand. He winked it out after staring hard at it for a time. He had a bad feeling about this.

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John had left to get some fresh air. Twelve days of nothing but this house was getting to him. Bella's back balcony was fairly secluded. He could walk out there without being noticed. It didn't help much – the air was humid and pressed in upon him. Giving up on that plan, he headed back inside, in search of something to eat. But as he passed the parlour, he stopped. Two men were in there – one being Remy. And the atmosphere was charged.

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He had found the bastard when he had come back in from a stroll with Bella Donna to her father's house. He was sprawled on the chaise lounge, all too smug. On instinct, Remy had charged a card, only to have his anger spike at Julien Boudreaux's self-satisfied smile and the realisation that he couldn't evaporate the snake, as much as he wanted to.

Gritting his teeth, Remy had sat down and stared, trying to unclench his jaw enough to demand what Julien was doing in his sister's house. And then John walked down.

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John was looking between the man lounging on the couch and Remy. Both seemed to hate each other with a passion. No one moved for a long while and then the man on the couch spoke.

"I done called the cops, Remy. Heard you a wanted man -- you and him." -- he nodded his head towards John. "Figured it would getcha away from my sis. They'll be here any minute," he said, tilting his head to the side and glancing at John. John glared at the man, flicking his flamethrowers and allowing the fire to form a ball in his hand. He held it up for the man to see and bounced it a couple of times. Remy smirked, knowing what came next. Deciding against frying the guy completely, John simply sent the fire at his shirt. The shirt immediately caught on fire and he let go of his control as the man fell to the floor screaming.

Remy was suddenly on the move, walking towards the door. He followed after watching the flames go out.

"If I ever see you again, I'll fry you so fast you won't have time to scream." John warned him, voice low and menacing, before stepping out of the house with Remy and following him to a car. The older man quickly picked the lock, jumped in the drivers seat and somehow got the car started. John didn't have time to ask how he'd done it as the car sped off faster than he'd ever gone in a car. He turned around to look behind them just in time to see the cops pulling up to the house. With a sigh, he realized they hadn't seen the car driving away. And the two had been too far down the road for the cops to even consider that they might be the fugitives they were searching for.

"Where to now?" John asked, turning to look at his new partner in crime.

"Well, _mon ami_, I don' know, but where else is better than New York, y'know? I hear they got a whole world a people like us up there, now," the older man informed him. After hearing the name New York, John realized it was going to be another long drive. Remy slowly began to let off the gas and he relaxed slightly.

"I take it he wasn't a friend of yours?" John asked, knowing he was being rude again, but not really caring at the moment.

"Julien ain't no damned friend a mine, low-down bastard. He be Bella's brother -- and all too close on her," Remy stated. After a moment of silence, John leaned forward and began messing with the radio, thankful it actually worked. The two lapsed into a more comfortable silence with a radio to listen to, even though some of the news reports included them.

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_(The lyric in the page break is from "Image of the Invisible" by Thrice.)_


	5. Chapter 4

Thanks to **Shy FX **for the review! And to everyone else --we've seen you've been reading! Thank you!

kmf's stuff: well, chap 2 was all curt's. Had to return the favor. This is sorta like a intermission, bear with me. You'll see more of your fave characters again in the next chap. This one was just necessary to give you an insight for the next chap. Enjoy!

curt's crap: All props to Davis! Inspiration bit her hard, and aren't you all happy? ;-)_

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_**Chapter Four**_

The old man sat, half in shadow, staring at the president. They had been talking for a long while about what to do, but hadn't come up with any idea's yet. Finally, he spoke on the one idea he'd had ever since the Pyro kid had attacked him.

"I think the registration law needs to be enacted. And I also think that we need to make a law that restricts mutants using their powers in public. Make it so that if they use them in public they get arrested and sent to Alcatraz." he said. The president's head snapped up to look at him, eyes dazed by the mere prospect of the proposition being laid at his feet.

"If we do that, it will mean war. Are you prepared for that? Because I'm not. No, enacting those laws would be a stupid idea. The mutants would rebel and we'd never hear the end of it." the man said. Worthington leaned forward, face suddenly in the light. The president flinched when he saw the half mutilated face of the man who had invented the cure, burned and scarred from the attack he'd suffered.

"Whether you like it or not, I have basically already waged war on the mutant community. I will no longer sit back while these... _mutants_ terrorize people. How can you?" the old man asked. The president blinked and took a second look at the man's face. With a sigh, the president nodded.

"I did because they were my people. But I guess you are right. They terrorize their own people. War has become inevitable. I will make the announcement tomorrow."

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"It is with great hesitation that I have accepted the proposal made by Mr. Worthington. As of today, the mutant registration laws are enacted. This requires every mutant to register with the government. The second law being enacted is a law that requires mutants to refrain from using their powers in public. If any mutant does not follow this law and continues use of their powers in public, we _will _arrest the mutant and have them placed in Alcatraz. These laws were never meant to be enacted, but after the attempt on Mr. Worthington and several others, we find it necessary to put some restraint on the mutant community and the way they use their powers. That is all I have to say." the president said, before turning from the podium.

As he walked off the stage, he couldn't help but wonder what he had done. Seeing Worthington standing behind the curtain, he walked over to the man and looked out of a opening in the curtain with him.

"Have I truly done the wise thing here? This will mean war, Worthington." he said, sighing from exhaustion.

"Yes. This was the wise thing to do. And yes, this will mean war. But for now, all we can do is get ready. We are going to have to fight." Worthington stated, before disappearing down the hall. With one last glance and a sigh, the president followed him, hoping against what he knew would happen.

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_(The lyric in the page break is from "Image of the Invisible" by Thrice.)_


	6. Chapter 5

Thanks **Time and Fate **for the review!

kmf's stuff: Finally you get some action! And I totally agree with what curt says below. Enjoy!

curt's crap: Remember your battle paraphernalia -- it's coming into play._

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_**Chapter Five**_

New York was cold. Colder than Remy LeBeau, bayou born and raised was used to. John seemed to be fairing just fine, though, while Remy blessed all the cows that contributed to the making of his worn leather duster.

"Nothing like second-home, huh?"

"_Mon Dieu, homme_. How you all live like dis?" Remy had his hands wrapped tight round himself, rubbing his arms.

"The cold or the squallor?" He laughed when Remy cut him a look. He sighed. "You'll get used to it. I did."

"From where? Detroit, eh? Cold to cold don't count, _mon ami._"

"Australia."

Remy arched an eyebrow. "Maybe ya ain't so diff'rent after all."

It took a bit of searching, but Remy and John came across an uninhabited abandoned building that they could stake as their own for the time being. There were some broken-down furnishings left within it -- it would do just fine. Now they needed food. And blankets, Remy insisted. And being the long-time thief he was -- not to mention _not_ being the one gracing every television screen across the damned country -- was taking upon the mission.

He was heading back after snagging a comforter from someone's clothesline, not to mention all the food he had grabbed from vendors and loaded down in a bag -- recovered from a Dumpster -- when a bit of conversation caught his attention. He stayed behind one of the Dumpsters in the alley he was in and eavesdropped on the two men conducting their conversation in whispers.

"All the mutants down here're meetin' up -- tommorrow night. You comin'?"

" 'Course, man. I'm down."

_Ah, opportunity knocks when ya least expect her to, _non? Remy thought to himself. With the information in mind, he headed back to his and John's place.

-------------

"... they can't do this. What are we going to do? How do we fight this...?"

"By doing exactly that, you moron." John said, not able to stay quiet anymore. He was, admittedly, over-agitated by the man standing on the stage whining. The whole crowd turned to look at him and moved apart as he made his way up to the stage, Remy behind him the whole way.

"What are all of you doing? I can't believe the president and Worthington have just waged war against us and you're all standing around bitching about what we're gonna do! We have to fight this! This means war! They can't just take away our rights as citizens and expect us to sit around. You have to fight." he stated, looking around at the people around him.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" the guy who had been speaking asked from somewhere off to John's right. He looked over and saw the man still standing on the stage, just as an idea formulated in his mind.

"Just don't toast 'em, _homme_. They ain't worth it." Remy said from behind him. He glanced back at the man and nodded. Flicking the flamethrowers on his wrist, he allowed the flames to grow and form a giant bird.

-------------

Remy saw the thugs approaching as John was pulling off his effective demonstration of firepower -- literally -- and will. There were three of them, rough-hewn and tattooed, obviously sure of themselves. He quickly stepped out between them and John.

"And who the fuck do you think you are?" demanded the evident leader of the band gruffly.

"Just another like you, _mon ami_," Remy offered placatingly, with a smirk, leaning upon his Bo staff.

"I think you're about to get your head smashed in -- then we're gonna get your buddy."

Remy _tsk_ed, shaking his head. "_Non._ That's where you wrong." With a flick of his wrist, Remy held a card. His eyes glowed as he charged it -- the thugs stared. The leader scoffed.

"So you make shit glow, huh?"

Remy smiled. "An' so much more," he replied as he tossed it down before them. The resulting explosion was loud and bright, just rightly so, though, and sent the thugs flying, each of them landing on their arses, eyes bugged.

Remy winked at them and went to stand beside John.

--------------

John turned the fire bird on a large bench at the back of the stage. It easily picked the bench up. He slowly made it drop the bench again and snuffed it out, before turning back to the awe stricken crowd. He knew, he now had everyone's attention.

"Like I was saying before he so rudely interrupted me. We have to fight. We can't protest. They'll just hose us or something. This means war. We have to build a resistance. It's the only way we're gonna survive." he said.

"What do you want us to do?" someone asked. He looked taken aback for a second, surprised someone was asking him what to do. And then he straightened up and stared out over the crowd.

"We have to gather mutants to our cause. Build a strong resistance. We have to fight."_

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(The lyric in the page break is from "Image of the Invisible" by Thrice.)


	7. Chapter 6

Oh, wow. Thanks to **Dringer** for the review on Chapter Three. Thank you to **aunni** (glad we've given you a nudge!), **rogue1984 **and **Time and Fate** for the reviews and comments.

kmf's stuff: to Time and Fate --I'd have to say I agree with curt. He doesn't intentionally become the good guy, for the mutants at least, but he's no longer what the mutants consider a bad guy. I hope that makes sense. Thanks to all our reviewers. Enjoy!

curt's crap: (I see John as a unintentional good guy -- a good bad guy, if you'd rather.) By the way, this is bloody awesome. I'm really loving this X-Men fandom -- I don't see reviews like this for any other story. You all are wonderful._

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_**Chapter Six**_

The TV in the window was suddenly interrupted by a news bulletin, the reporter droning off rules the president had sent for him to announce were being established: "Any mutant caught using their powers in public is to be reported to authorities. Also, any mutants who have yet to register, _must _do so immediately. If you do not register and you are caught using your powers, you _will_ be imprisoned in Alcatraz, or other high-level facilities being established cross-country..."

The announcement went on with the new rules restraining the mutants from using their powers. It was even being played on the radio. Everywhere, mutants were being locked up for even accidental use of their powers in public. If it was even so much as _suspected_ that a mutant was using their abilities, they were taken in. Worthington came on the TV and radio minutes later. Everyone who could stop in the streets stopped to watch television screens in shop windows and in stores, people were glued to home televisions and attentively listening to the radio to see and hear what he said, horrified to see him for the first time with half his face mutilated from the slight inferno that the Pyro boy had unleashed upon him only a little over a month ago.

"I would like everyone to know that, though I have ended production of the cure, I _will_ back the president on this case. The mutants _must_ be restrained. They cannot be allowed to take advantage of their powers anymore. Look at me -- see what them running unchecked reaps.

"I would also like to let everyone know that I am now backing a major anti-mutant company and would like anyone who wants to join to do so. Any and all donations and support are appreciated. Thank you, and good evening. One day soon we will wake to a safer world," the old man said, before the screen cut out and turned back to the reporter, who continued announcing the new laws and developments.

-------------

John had found himself somehow at the head of the resistance. There had been no spoken words, no declaration of him as their leader. They had simply started relying on him to tell them what to do. He had been the one to step up -- to show them what _needed _to be done for them to succeed. But he hadn't intended to be looked up to. He was so lost, being the one to lead, that Remy had become his second-in-command and would help him whenever he, John, had no idea what to do. He had also found ten or so mutants with military smarts that he had asked to be a sort of 'council' for him. They helped him make desicions, helped him figure out how to coordinate the mutants and train them.

Through a system of underground channels, the mutants had started rallying behind John and Remy. The two were constantly underground during the day, John giving speeches of how everyone was going to have to fight for their rights. They had gathered an army shortly. And this time it wasn't like the brotherhood. It wasn't just a hundred or so mutants. It was thousands of mutants across the country. Their nexus though, was the Bronx, New York, with John and Remy. In such a place where human trouble plagued the authorities enough, they were lax on the mutant oppression. Perfect.

They had become as much a figurehead for the mutants as Worthington had for their opposition.

-------------

"Look, kid. You do this and you'll have immunity. You won't have to worry about being thrown in prison. They're not gonna catch you. Just slip in, kill him and come and find me," a figure said from the shadow of his office, sitting behind his desk where the young mutant couldn't see him.

"You, a human who hates mutants, want me to kill the president? Why?" he asked.

"For the benefit of a war. There's no way I can get all of the humans behind me. But if a mutant kills the president, the humans will be so outraged that they'll start protesting against mutants. They'll start gathering together, ready to fight for their own safety. That is why," the man said.

"So I kill the figurehead of the damned _country_ and it's all cool where I'm concerned, right? 'Cos I ain't gonna be in good with _anybody _after that. I've set up my own kind, and I'm what the mortals are being programmed to despise. How the hell is it gonna be okay for me?"

"There's a bit of the cure left..." The man paused, then continued, his voice silken. "I could...arrange for you to benefit from the formula."

"So the mortals would be cool with me?"

"Has being a mutant ever benefitted you, child?"

"Not now," the kid grumbled. He clicked his tongue as he thought on it a bit more before finally replying: "Alright, you have a deal."

"Good. When?"

"Tonight, Mr. Worthington. I'll kill him tonight. But remember the deal."

"But of course."

-------------

The president was standing in his office when the young man suddenly appeared in front of him. He didn't have time to speak before he found himself up against the wall. He shuddered as the young man met his eyes, realizing that the teen had tobe a mutant due to their reptile-like yellow hue.

"Guess you messed with the wrong man," the teen said, before stabbing the president in the gut and twisting the blade before ripping it across. The president slumped to the ground, eyes staring blankly at a wall, and was dead as soon as he hit the floor. The doors burst open and men started filing into the room, guns drawn. They were all surprised to see a teenager of eighteen standing over the gutted, dead body of the president. The mutant turned his head to look behind him with a smirk. The glint of humor was all any of them caught in his yellow eyes before the teen disappeared in front of them. Moments later he reappeared in Worthington's office.

"It's done. I left him dead. They know I'm a mutant," he told the older man. Worthington nodded and turned from the window he was staring out of to look the young mutant over. Hands clasped behind his back, he walked over to where the teen stood. As soon as Worthington stood before him, his hands jerked from behind his back and towards the mutants stomach. The teen looked down to see the old man's hand hold the hilt of a knife, which was embedded in his stomach, much like he had left his own blade in the president.

He looked up at his employeer, eyes wide in pain, shock and betrayal. Worthington simply pulled the knife from the boys stomach. As if the knife had been the only thing holding the mutant up, the boy dropped to the ground with a soft thud, staring up at Worthington with a question lingering in his eyes.

"I hate mutants. There's no place for you," the old man said, dropping the knife and moving away from the mutant boy, who died only moments after he left the room.

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"A mutant has killed the president. Authorities are currently searching for this young man --" a reporter said, just before a picture covered the screen with the young boy's face on it. "Secret Services say that when they entered the room he was there, but he disappeared before their eyes. He is thought to have been hired by a specific mutant, one who is rumored to be leading the newly formed mutant resistance -- a mutant by the name of John Allerdyce, also known by 'Pyro'. The vice president has stepped up and taken the place of the president, stating that he _will_ capture the mutants behind this. He has also stated that this does means war against the mutant community. From now on, any mutants seen using their powers are to be reported to authorities to be taken to Alcatraz and other corresponding facilities.

"In other news, due to the presidents untimely death at the hands of a mutant, anti-mutant protests have broken out all over the country. Protestors, demanding that the use of mutant powers be banned permanently, have stationed themselves out of the White House and other places around the country. We'll take you to Jennie Haldez, who is live at the White House now."

The news report switched over to a live feed of protestors outside of the white house. They were chanting something about mutants and holding up anti-mutant signs saying things like "Fight the Freaks", "Down with Mutants", "Zero Tolerance for Mutant Activities", "Unnormal is Unnatural". John noticed as he turned the TV off that the eleven men, Remy included, that were gathered in the room were all looking at him.

"I didn't hire anyone to kill the president. It's Worthington I wanna take down," he snapped as he sat back down on a couch. They were in his and Remy's place, watching a TV that one of the men had brought over and set up. The stolen stereo in the other room blared some grunge song: "_Stop comin' around 'cause you bother me. Stupid motherfucker pull your head out your ass and see. What don't you get -- was I stuttering? I don't need to take your shit get away from me!_" It was matching John's mood pretty well right now.

"Dey done officially declared war against us, John," Remy stated, leaning against the wall. He was flipping a card about in his fingers -- it seemed almost a nervous habit. It was a Jack of Clubs this time. "We gonna fight. But we gon' need a plan."

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_(The lyric in the page break is from "Image of the Invisible" by Thrice.)_

_("All My Problems" is by Smile Empty Soul _-- one of curt's favourite bands ;-)


	8. Chapter 7

Thanks **Aunni**, **Time and Fate** and **rogue1984** for the reviews and comments!

kmf's stuff: Enjoy! Thanks for reviewing!

curt's crap: The X-Men won't really make an appearance, as a whole, but one of them just might. _

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_**Chapter Seven**_

The target was nothing more than an old dress-shop manequin in Dumpster-scavenged clothes. There was a ring of men surrounding it, playing the part of human security. There was another group, hiding amongst the scattered items within the wide empty space of the dilapitated warehouse.

This was a drill they had practised over and over. They had it down to almost an artform.

Remy LaBeau was in the rafters, his glowing eyes looking down upon the squad. He was proud of them. These mutants who had come with nothing but pride and determination had honed themselves into warriors, not just fighters. They had their street-smarts. But they had lacked knowledge of a true group mentality, lacked stealth though they were slick...but in the last month about, they had become a force to be reckoned with. They worked together pretty well, utilising each others gifts and strengths. They knew their jobs: Take down the opposition --the security. Make sure that the target didn't get away.

The target was Worthington, and he was St John Allerdyce's prize.

The ambush began, sudden and unexpected. "The element a surprise is de best friend you gonna ever have in a situation like dis," Remy had drilled into them. "You gotta sneak -- which I know y'all can do. But you gotta take down the ones that don' matter quiet. Your power ain't everything. Dere's a time for de big stuff, and a time for subtlety." He had paced before them, producing a card. "When all hell breaks out, you let out your all."

They were doing just that. One of them -- Dyna was her name -- fired a plasma burst over the "security" -- not a misfire, a distraction. And as the majority reacted as the mortals would, the rest of the mutant attack group moved in, and then they gave it their all.

In the end, the "security" subdued, the two groups switched, and ran it through once more. Remy watched for a while longer -- there were still some upstarts that did not comprehend subtlety. He'd deal with that later, if he could.

Remy jumped from his perch and headed to see if any breakthroughs had been made.

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John stood around the table with the ten men he considered his council. Remy had just waltzed in from the training house. Papers lay out everywhere, maps of cities and towns, notes sent from places where other mutant armies were gathering -- notes asking him what they were expected to do. The TV was playing in the background, some kind of soap opera playing on it or something. One of the men, Ian, was briefing him on everything happening around the country when the news came on for the day. They paid it no attention, however, until they heard the name Worthington.

"... In other news, Warren Worthington II has announced a press conference he is holding in Washington tomorrow. What this conference is about, he will not yet say, but he is inviting anyone who wants to come to show up..."

"I think we just got an invitation boys. Get everyone ready. We're going on a field trip to Washington," John said, smirking, as he turned and left the room.

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Worthington stood behind the curtain with a young man, speaking softly with him. The crowds were gathered and everyone had taken their seats. Someone found the two standing half in shadow speaking and directed them onto the stage. Worthington walked out, the young man behind him. In the light, the other man was in his mid to late twenties. Worthington stepped up to the podium and faced the crowd.

"I know I am not in the most favoured of light with some of you. But I know more of you see the truth of what I have been saying recently. Look upon me. Tell me that I have been exaggerating, that the laws I have helped speed into action are too stringent. They are not, I assure. They are as they should be. We offered these people a cure, and they reacted with violent opposition. If they wish to remain among us, they need to be known, so we can take the proper precautions. There are amazing reprecussions to consider on the subject of the just 'being like everyone else'. The truth is, ladies and gentlemen, they _are not_. They are quite different. We just want to be safe.

"Today, I am bringing to light a genius, a revolutionary amongst our ranks. His name is Mr Adam Gearson, head of the Iridescent Corporation. I am proud to call him my partner, and the man that will most assuredly help lead us into that brighter, safer day on the horizon." Worthington smiled broadly and nodded to the massive crowd.

Before he could begin to speak again, the man beside him -- Adam Gearson -- tapped his arm and whispered to him, nodding out into the crowd. Worthington's eyes scanned, and noticed several people seemed to be moving determinedly forward through the crowd, towards him. That certainly didn't bode well. But Worthington smiled to himself, realizing what it must be.

"Ah," he said, almost to himself. "So Mr Allerdyce got my invitation and decided to bring an army with him." He nodded at Gearson, who went to relay the message that Worthington had given him before the elder man had even gone onstage. Worthington would continue his talking, feigning blissful ignorace.

"Sergeant," Gearson said to the military guard off the side of the stage. "There's mutants coming this way. Looks to be a good deal of them. Their in the crowd, amongst the supporters, but I don't doubt they will make an announcement of their arrival soon. Get your cure guns ready. Take out enough of them to incapacitate them -- no need to get them all;we have places that will teach them better than death will. And look for Pyro. If he's with them, he is to be taken down immediately. _With the cure_," Gearson reiterated Worthington's words, cruel emphasis upon the last, his hazel eyes glinting.

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_(The lyric in the page break is from "Image of the Invisible" by Thrice.)_


	9. Chapter 8

Thanks to **Dringer** and **smearedliner **for the reviews!

kmf's stuff: Enjoy ladies and gentleman! Thanks for the reviews!

curt's crap: And it winds down...

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_**Chapter Eight**_

She was broken-hearted. She stood there numb, trying to wrap her head round what possibly could have caused all this. She stood listening to the man before the crowd behind his podium, his voice spilling forth his now acidic views on mutants.

Her kind.

Or at least, what she really was.

Not long ago, this man had seemed like a god to her. Warren Worthington had offered something she had wished and longed for more than anything -- a normal life.

And she had come to see what "greatness" a normal life brought: heartache, and a ringside view to sneering distrust and indeed hatred, and to the persecution of those she loved and knew. But could do nothing about it.

Rogue's heart ached because Bobby Drake had left her. She wasn't like him anymore -- she saw what that was code for: _You were weak, Rogue._ And she couldn't take seeing him and Kitty Pryde happy as clams together. So she had left, running as she always tended to do. And she had ended up here, listening to the poison of a man she had thought was the answer to her prayers, only to come to realise he was the key to her fears.

She felt someone brush rudely by her, but thought nothing of it. It was a large crowd. Her eyes were on Worthington, though his words had become blurred to her.

Then she saw it, a bright red flare or something streaking across the sky. She mused vaguely in the back of her mind tthat it was really rather beautiful...

...And then all hell broke loose.

Screams and shouts erupted. People were panicked, stampeding everywhere.

"_Get down! Get down! Get out of the damned way!_" She couldn't see the details for the tempest of people about her. An explosion rocked the ground as something impacted with the building Worthington was standing before. Chunks of stone flew out. Rogue turned to try and run, only to be stuck were she was by the sea of people.

The last thing she felt was an explosion of pain as something hard collided with her back.

-------------

John pushed his way through the crowd of humans. Glancing over he noticed Remy throwing down his cards, but was too distracted to care as he jumped up onto the stage and faced Worthington. The man turned to look at him with a strange smile on his face. John didn't even wince at the sight of the burns he'd left him.

"So, you did get my invitation after all. I was wondering if this was just a distraction so you could get to me," Worthington said, watching as John smirked, stepping closer to the old man.

"Yeah, I got your invitation. Decided to take a little field trip with my army... Anyways, now that I've got you're attention, I guess I should finish the job I started," he stated, just as an explosion went off in the background.

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It had all gone pretty close to how they had practised it -- except that the security seemed to have known they were there. But the distraction had worked to a certain extent -- save it had given away Dyna's exact location. A hail of fire from the security men not fooled by her display caught her. She fell to the ground, convulsing. Her eyes lost their blaze and slowly, the convulsions subsided, but she knew what had happened.

She was cured. No longer a mutant.

-------------

"C'mon! Take 'em down! Cover each other! _Watch the hell out!_" Ian was yelling to the men. He caught a chunk of stone before it landed in a telekinetic field. He focused and shoved it toward the security guards opposing his guys. He caught two of three, but not before one of his own fell. The boy was convulsing upon the ground, changing before everyone.

_Fucking cure guns. _Ian hated to loose his team this way.

"Guys! To me!" They had taken down a good amount of Worthington's men. Pyro was squaring off with his man. It was time to regroup and back down. Not surrender, just bowing out to fight another day.

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Remy flung a barrage of charged cards at the building behind Worthington. The blast was tremendous. He weaved through the people, easily lost in the chaos. Flying parts of the building rained and slammed down within the crowd. He caught sight of a hapless girl, stuck within the turmoil. She looked out of place, and somehow he knew she wasn't one of Worthington's enthusiasts. He couldn't reach her before a chunk of stone caught her from behind, flinging her hard to the ground. She lay still.

Wincing at what had happened, Remy made his way toward her. She was still breathing. Alive. He hoisted her up into his arms. John was standing before Worthington, invoking images of old western movies. It was just a matter of who would draw first.

------------

The two were staring at each other, both ready to move at the first sign that the other was. John hadn't glanced away from Worthington since the explosion. In fact, Worthington was the first to look away, glancing over John's shoulder with a smirk on his face.

"John! _Mon ami_ --look out behind you!" he heard Remy yell from somewhere in the crowd. Flicking his flamethrowers on, he turned around and shot fire at the man coming at him, realizing it was Gearson a moment later. The man ducked just as John spun the fire back to himself and turned around, shooting it at an unsuspecting Worthington. The older man didn't duck in time. A ball of fire hit him face first and he dropped to the ground screaming and writhing in pain.

Lighting the flamethrowers again, he turned back around and held a ball of fire up for Gearson to see, bouncing it in one hand. The man stood there, wide-eyed and staring at Worthington, who had stopped moving. He knew the man was dead and looked up into the eyes of his killer, before backing up off the stage. John took one last look at Worthington, before jumping down off the stage and running after his retreating army.

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_(The lyric in the page break is from "Image of the Invisible" by Thrice.)_


	10. Epilogue

Thank you **smearedliner** and **rogue1984** for the reviews! And never fear -- you shall find no "Ryro" fic here!

kmf's stuff: No, this is not a Ryro fic! Remy, after all, is the one who found her. But that's not important. This is the end of our first story. Expect our next one soon! Probably tomorrow if we have enough motivation to get it up by then.

curt's crap: Ah, first one down. And I grew up with the cartoons... If you have Rogue, you have to have dear Remy. And Remy isn't complete without Rogue.

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_**Epilogue**_

She hurt. The pain was centralised between her shoulders, but it radiated down throughout her body. She moaned when she tried to move, pain lancing through her.

"Hey now, _p'tite cherie._ Don' move so much." The voice was deep and soft, the drawl comfortingly reminescent of the family and home she had run away from down South. Rogue opened her eys, not able to help her gasp. She was surprised when it was only met with a small, crooked smile.

"I'm...I'm sorry." Odd how being around someone from the same neck of the backwoods as yourself emphasised the accent that had become less pronounced. But it came back full of glory -- her "I"s more like "Ah"s.

"No need, _ma chere._ I know my eyes ain't exactly whatcha want t' wake up n see first thing," he responded. "You ain't from 'round here, neither, eh?"

Slowly, she sat up, the man offering her a hand and helping her. "N -- no, I...I'm not." She looked around, completely at a loss. She was in an abandoned building, she gathered, but where? Who was this man who was being so kind to her, that made her feel so at ease?

"Where you from then, _ange_?"

She looked up at that. The man was leaning against the wall, looking over at her. His glowing red irises set in black made it hard to read his eyes, but she didn't get the feeling he meant her harm. He seemed to care a lot, for some odd reason.

"I'm from Mississippi. You're Cajun, huh?"

"You a smart one, _cherie_."

"Where am I? Why are you here?" The haze she had woken in had faded and she was highly alert.

"Slow down, _p'tite._ No need to get scared. You in New York, now."

She groaned.

"Take it you's tryin' t' leave here, huh?" He shook his head. "Don' it always work dat way? But you with John Allerdyce's team --" He stopped at her expression. "I take it now you done heard a him."

"He fuckin' betrayed us!" she couldn't help but burst out. John had always put her on edge -- what with being the trying kind of person he was. But he had left to join Magneto and his Brotherhood. He had turned against them... But who was she to condemn? She wasn't even considered a mutant anymore.

"What's wrong, _belle_?"

"Nothin'. Just...just a lot of old memories." _And uncertainty of the present, not to mention the future._

"Understandable, den. So I'm bettin' you wanna know ma name, den, eh?"

She actually hadn't even thought to ask. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. He extended a hand, which she took and they shook hands.

"Dey call me Gambit."

"Rogue."

"Nice name. I...I guess I'm gon' leave you alone, give ya some time to adjust n all..." He headed towards the door to exit the small room.

"Marie."

"Huh?" He turned back around, and she was glad. He pushed back a fall of longish auburn hair from his face.

"My name...it's Anna Marie Raven." It felt good to finally say her name again. So she'd changed the last name... But the first part was more than anyone but her family and herself knew.

The man smiled. "Remy. Remy LaBeau. See ya after a while, Marie." And with that he left.

-------------

John had never felt so needed before, and the concept, quite frankly, scared him. But he had resolved to stick around. He had seen Remy carry Rogue back to their 'home' and that had sparked a guilty feeling in his gut. He had decided it would be wrong for him to leave.

He had decided that it would be wrong to leave Remy, who had saved him and become a friend, or at least an ally, and it would be even more wrong to leave Rogue a second time. She had been a good friend and though she got on his nerves more times than not, he couldn't deny it.

The only thing he could do after the battle was sit back and smirk at Remy, who he could already see taking a liking to the girl he had saved. So, he would stay and lead the resistance. After all, he thought to himself, somebody had to.

-------------

Coverage of their little drop-in/assassination was everywhere. And the mortals where speaking out -- loud and obnoxiously. But they made it clear how they saw it: "This is war; we're going to rid the world of your kind."

And to that, the mutants' silent response was: "Well, if you want a war, you've got it."

* * *

_(The lyric in the page break is from "Image of the Invisible" by Thrice.)_

-Cue playing Disturbed's "Voices" as "credits" roll-


End file.
